She sits in her laundry basket in the backyard, quietly breathing in the cool of the summer afternoon. The garden needs tending after a lot of rain has caused a sudden burst of growth. The laundry sways, dancing on the line. Clouds shift and scurry overhead, cooling and heating intermittently. Finches swoop around and about in a mating ritual, while cardinals sing their two-note melody.

One brother is on the deck, inventing a war ship out of a line of rope and a second laundry basket. Another carries a bamboo stick around, enmeshed in his own world, always heroic, always winning, always striving. Until…..a butterfly floats past on the breeze.

His attention is stolen from his world, and he begins to chase the butterfly. Dodging right and left, around apple tree, hither and yon, he pursues…until the butterfly escapes over a high fence. I call him, with low voice beckoning. Come see this miracle. Come slowly, or you’ll miss it. There is a young butterfly near me on the deck, spreading its wings.

He creeps quietly, silently over to the butterfly and watches it as stretches its wings and takes flight. His eyes are enrapt, his posture tense, until the moment of flight.

As he retreated to his bamboo stick and imagination, he spoke to me in passing, “Mom, I guess if you’re quiet and careful you can see him.”

And his words sunk into my heart that has been saddened by so many current events. A heart torn repeatedly.

And it’s not the first time this day that the Holy Spirit has used the small voices around me to speak words of truth.

“If you’re quiet and careful you can see Him.”

And I draw a deep breath and remember the words from Isaiah.

“In repentance and rest you will be saved,In quietness and trust is your strength.”

And I have renewed strength and renewed trust that what is broken can be made whole.

About a week ago, I looked out onto our front lawn and saw some wild violets beginning to grow there. Because we’re a little…passionate, shall we say, about using what we’ve been given, I quickly googled to see if we could use wild violets in any culinary attempts.

Enter violet jelly, which is apparently a THING in Europe. Who knew?
I do, now.

So I polled facebook to find out if anyone knew of a local source for a large quantity of violets. A kind someone graciously volunteered their lawn. Today, I took our oldest to their lawn and made a game of getting as many violets before a forecasted rainstorm, which still hasn’t happened. Those weathermen.

We gathered about two quart-sized ziplock baggies between their lawn and ours.

Gather your violets. Make sure they are from a safe place where pesticides have not been sprayed.

Pour boiling water over violets, and let sit for two to three hours, stirring occasionally. Strain the flowers out, making sure to press out all of the water. You should have 3-1/2 cups of blue-green colored violet water.

Add lemon juice, pectin, and sugar and stir. Transfer to a 4-quart pot.

Bring to boil, boil for one minute. Skim off foamy residue.

We chose to strain the liquid as we poured it into our sterilized jars. This is optional---we just wanted a very smooth texture to our jelly.

We’ve taken down our Christmas tree. It feels so sacrilegious to breathe a sigh of relief as all remnants of Christmas decor are put away for another year. But the house feels so fresh and clean and void of clutter. Filled with intention and purpose, as it were.

One of our children has been having a very hard time adjusting to the idea of moving far away from grandparents. He’ll be cheered momentarily when we mention skype or that we’ll come back on visits. He’ll even perk up enough that he wants to pack right now and move RIGHT NOW. But then 20 minutes later, his heart will feel crushed, and he’ll start crying.

This is the child who has never had an afghan crocheted for him, so before Christmas he requested that I start an afghan with bright (occasionally garish) colors of his choosing.

I sat thinking about him and praying about him yesterday morning. For crocheting, to me, is a visible reminder of prayers I have prayed for people. Each stitch I bring a new request or a new burden, sometimes a new tear or two to the Father who gives good gifts. “I wish I could wrap my love and security around him as easily as I could wrap this afghan.” “Help him to experience peace and comfort.” And as I was praying for this child, the snow fell, and my tears fell along with the dusty flakes.

“Go outside.” something in my soul stirred. I don’t often feel such soul stirrings, but I ignored it for a while, because the couch was much cozier and convenient.

“Go outside. Your soul is starved.” I felt the prompting again.

It had been days, nearly weeks, since I’d been outside just to appreciate nature, because of inclimate weather and poor health in our family. I finally got up, threw a sweater on, and sat outside next to the Christmas tree that had been deposited a little unceremoniously on our deck. I watched the flakes take refuge in the dried branches and thought to myself, “I should be getting something out of this. Why am I even out here? This is crazy.”

And then I watched the snowflakes more closely. I took note of each one that landed on my jeans and melted, never to be seen again.

And words came. “Each flake, Lord. Each flake does it’s best to bring you glory. It whispers your name, your creativity. But then it melts, and who will remember it? If no one notices a flake, its memory is gone forever.”

And something deep in my soul welled up and reminded me “Does it matter? Does it matter if anyone notices? The God of the universe notices and is pleased with His creation. He is pleased when His creation does its duty and glorifies Him.”

Does it matter if anyone notices?

These thoughts gave me a grander perspective of eternity. Even if no one notices the little things (and big things) our family struggles through or waits for or sacrifices, God notices. It is enough that we obey. It is enough that we are faithful. Now these thoughts may not necessarily help my child who is struggling, but they certainly gave me comfort. Our God is the God Who Sees. He sees each snowflake bringing Him glory before it melts away. He also sees me struggling to hold my child’s heart tenderly and sees me floundering and failing all too often. He sees.

“Lord, I do fear Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year;”

This phrase from Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “God’s World,” perfectly describes my delight for Minnesota autumns. As we give way to snowy and cold days, I know that I’ll find delight in those as well. For now, however, I’m holding on to all of the dredges of the season, yearning to keep the golden glimmer always.

Here’s a beautiful poem for you this morning, delighting in God’s goodness in creation.

Alice Dalgliesh’s Thanksgiving Story—This children’s book was not on our curriculum for the year, but I’m glad I added it this week at the last minute. Some of our other Thanksgiving picture book stories get a little too gritty for our youngest listeners. The illustrations from Helen Sewell were simplistic and enjoyable, and the storyline followed children in one family as they adGjusted to life in the New World.